


Home

by SharpestRose



Category: Popslash
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-01
Updated: 2011-07-01
Packaged: 2017-10-20 22:06:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/217558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SharpestRose/pseuds/SharpestRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris' home is where Justin is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home

When Chris was ten years old, he'd spent as much time as he could in the conditioned air of the local mall, hiding from the heat. The people there were fascinating, the girls a little older than him who smelt like bubble gum and cooed over magazines as bright and glossy as their smiles, the old men with their tired bones and lottery tickets and newspapers, the young parents struggling to control their overheated children.

Sometimes Chris saw things that made him wonder about the world, about all the things that parents, school and church never thought to teach. Like the girl with the port wine stain on her forehead and cheek, who never looked anybody in the face and plucked chocolate bars off supermarket shelves with nimble fingers and gazed at the bubble gum girls when she thought nobody saw.

The pair of tanned, athletic boys who constantly had to fend off the attention from haughty cheerleader princesses, who had eyes for no-one but each other when they thought nobody saw.

But Chris saw. Chris saw everybody.

One day, Chris sat at the edge of the food court, near a McDonald's and a real estate agent's and a key-cutting stall. The girl with the nimble fingers sat a few tables away and he watched her as she watched the glossy gaggle of bubblegum girls, who would one day grow up to be the sleek princesses currently clustered around the milkshake counter. The girl with the port wine stain had a dark look in her eyes as she stared at the group, and Chris knew that the chocolate she stole would never be enough to stop the hunger in her.

A man and a little girl came out of the real estate agent's, her face blotchy from crying and a pout on her baby mouth.

"But Daddy, I don't wanna. It won't be home, the new house. It's gonna be awful."

"Pumpkin, wherever the people you love are is home. If we put all your toys and books in a room at the new house, and Mommy and I kiss you good night before you go to sleep there, it'll start feeling like home pretty soon."

"'kay." the girl agreed grudgingly, not looking convinced. Chris watched them walk away. He'd never thought about it before, what made a place home. Probably somewhere he'd be allowed to put up posters without a landlord getting angry, where he could jump around and play without being told to hush. Where somebody kissed him goodnight, every night, and never forgot because of overtime or tiredness.

His eyes locked with the hungry girl's, and he wondered if she could see that he was just like her inside.

As the years went by, the idea never lost its significance. When they had to stay in lousy, cramped rooms that always smelt vaguely like damp carpet, they would roll their eyes and Joey or JC would say 'home sweet home' in a dry voice, and Chris would smirk.

Once he stumbled in on the two of them comforting Lance, still painfully young and feeling the ache of homesickness. Apologising for the intrusion, Chris fled back into the hall, trying to work out why he'd suddenly had a flash of memory of the boys at that distant mall at the sight of Joey patting Lance's shoulder and JC stroking his hair.

Later, he wondered if Justin got homesick too, if anyone comforted him. It was hard to remember that Justin was even younger than Lance, he hid his age behind well-rehearsed and much-practiced smiles. Chris decided he'd pay closer attention in future, watch his bandmates with the same care as he'd once watched the denizens of the foodcourt.

At breakfast Lance's unique eyes were bloodshot and shadowed, but he had a sleepy, secret smile, and his appetite had returned. Chris hid his own grin behind a spoonful of cereal, examining Justin's face but finding no suggestion that the boy was upset at being so far from home.

More time passed, and the rooms stopped smelling of wet carpet, and some things changed. But Chris never lost his hunger, never stopped looking for home. He bought his mother a house, and thought he'd have to search far and wide before he'd do anything that would feel as good as that moment.

They stayed on buses for so long Chris began to feel like he'd never lived anywhere else. An interviewer asked if he felt at home onstage and he smiled and nodded and wondered if there was anywhere on earth where he ever _would_ feel at home.

Lance stopped looking painfully young and Justin, who never had to begin with, not really, even less so. Chris thought, for a long time, that he'd found where he belonged with Dani, but once that was gone it was hard to remember exactly how it had felt.

Justin and Britney shared a house, but were hardly ever both under the roof at the same time, so Chris knew it couldn't really be home for either of them. Home was having someone there to give goodnight kisses.

Chris had a house of his own, of course, and he and Justin spent comfortable, lazy afternoons there, playing games of basketball that eventually, inevitably, collapsed into attempts to concuss the other player with the ball. On one such afternoon, no different from any that had come before it, they decided to make their own pizza, and hunted through cabinets and cupboards for ingredients. Justin tackled the can of tomato paste, pulling the opener out of the drawer with the price tag still attached to the handle.

"It's not like I'm home that often." Chris shrugged in answer to Justin's wordless question. Justin rolled his eyes, smiling.

"You just lack home-making skills, man. You don't appreciate the finer things in life."

"Whatever. Hey, careful -"

The handle slipped out of Justin's hands with a clatter, sending an arc of bright, thick tomato sauce up and all over Justin.

"Aw, dammit." he pulled his ruined shirt off, scowling. "You got paper towels?"

"Sure." Chris managed to find them with little exploration, a fact he was ridiculously proud of. He could navigate his own kitchen!

Justin, naked from the waist up and splattered with tomato paste, didn't look the least bit uncomfortable or out of place. He never did, no matter how surreal the circumstances.

"Hey, Just," Chris said as he handed over the paper towels and Justin began to wipe himself down. "How come you're always so at ease? It's like you can make yourself at home anywhere. I've never seen you disoriented."

"Well, yeah." Justin agreed, rubbing the thick red sauce off his skin. "Makes sense."

"How so?"

"It's where the heart is, isn't it?" he ducked his head, trying to wipe up the spill on the countertop.

"What do you mean?" Chris managed to ask after a slow beat.

"You know." Justin answered with a fluid shrug, looking at Chris before dropping his gaze again, picking up the half-opened can and returning to the task. Chris stepped forward, putting his hand over Justin's, moving it up and off the tin, twining their fingers together as their mouths met.

They stayed locked like that, skin still streaked with tomato paste, crushed together for the first time yet somehow it was all achingly, wrenchingly familiar. Justin's hand moved to push up the hem of Chris' t-shirt, fingertips brushing against his back so lightly Chris couldn't help the choked whimper in his throat. Justin laughed then, a low and breathless chuckle.

"Welcome home." he whispered against Chris' lips.

Somebody's arm knocked the ingredients off the counter, the rest of the tomato paste suddenly in a long crimson puddle on the tile. Laughing, they moved out of the kitchen, away from sharp cutlery and messy foodstuffs.

"Off, off, off." Chris said in a sing-song, pulling at Justin's pants. Somehow they made it to the bedroom, shedding clothes at random points along the way, grabbing at each other and smiling, which was almost the nicest thing to do with their mouths but not quite. Justin's body, lithe and warm, was like a country Chris had never visited before, but knew by heart from maps and stories. They didn't fit like puzzle pieces, too much energy and movement for that, ticklish spots on ribcages and awkwardly placed elbows, but they couldn't stop grinning and laughing for a moment and it was wonderful.

Eventually the laughter tapered off and their breaths went ragged, hitching with each movement of skin on skin. Chris licked a long line up Justin's shoulder, cleaning off an errant smudge of tomato paste, and Justin made a stupid face at him in reply. In any other circumstances, any other people, it would have broken the mood into a million pieces, but here and now and them it was funny and right and they kissed again until the world shattered into silver stars.

Lying together, Justin's chin digging into his chest in a sharp and comfortable pressure, Chris began to talk about the summer he spent in the mall when he was a kid. About the people he'd seen there, the ones who'd been able to swallow life whole and the ones who sat on the edges and watched, envious and ravenous.

"Don't worry." Justin said softly, kissing at the edge of his mouth and tracing fingers over the lines of Chris' face. "You're never going to be hungry again."

 


End file.
